


The Years are Long, but it's always Good to see a Familiar Face

by localgoth



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Anger Sex, Angst, Character Development, Extended Scene, Frotting, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21567772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localgoth/pseuds/localgoth
Summary: The two times Corvo has encountered Daud (and both times ended in bed). A missing/extended/alternative scene following Corvo and Daud's duel in the Flooded District. And later, a fabricated scene, taking place fifteen years later, sometime before the start of Dishonored 2, where a lonely Corvo spots a familiar face in the bar.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tentatively ship this because I can't really see a relationship ever working out between the two. I don't think Corvo ever moves on from Jessamine and I don't think Daud would ever forgive himself for what he did to be comfortable with Corvo (plus there's no way Emily would accept Daud and thats a hundred percent a deal breaker for Corvo), but at the same time cannot help but be fascinated with the ship because of how intentionally similar Corvo and Daud are.

“I have one more surprise for you, I ask for my life.” Corvo held the blade to the assassin’s throat, unmoving. The request could not be sincere, or that Corvo was certain if it was than Daud was out of his damned mind. 

His heart pounded like a fierce war drum in his chest, strained from the duel just moments before and the emotion still rushing through his veins. He had fought with anger, something he had not done since his youth, when he had mistaken fury for power. He thought he knew better now. He used to take pride in his swordsmanship. It used to feel like a noble skill. 

He realizes then; He doesn’t want to kill Daud. He wants him to suffer. Death would be too merciful. 

He retracts the blade, returning it to it’s sheeth as he averts from Daud. “And yet you choose mercy. Remarkable.” Corvo turns quickly on his heel and bashes his fist into Daud’s face. No, he is not done inflicting harm on the other man. He knows violence will get him nowhere, but there is a fire in his chest that he had left burning for too long. Too many punches he had held for men who had wronged him - but not Daud. Blood ran from Daud’s nose where Corvo had hit him. He laughs, which makes the fire burn stronger. 

“Go on. Strike as if you mean it. You know that I killed her.” Daud says. He is mocking him, Corvo believes. He obeys Daud’s command, disregarding any potential sarcasm. One hand in a fierce grip on the collar of his shirt, his other caught in a cycle of winding back and bringing down upon Daud’s face. The other man doesn’t speak, doesn’t make noise. His face is bloodied but he shows no sign of hurting. Corvo only stops when he gets tired, and then his fists sting. They’re covered with blood, and not just Daud’s. Skin is broken on the knuckle. He stares at it. Daud uses this pause to wipe some of the blood from his face. “Have you had enough?” Daud asks. His heart thunders in his chest. It says no, but his limbs speak that he is tired. Corvo falls to his knees. Daud is slumped on the ground before him, unmoving. “Did that make you feel better?” He asks. 

“Shut. Up.” Corvo growls at him. It did nothing, he realizes. It didn’t bring Jessamine back. He wonders if she would be happy with the messy feral man he had been reduced down to. Daud stands. Corvo remains on the ground, vulnerable to him. If Daud wanted to strike him dead, then that would be fine by him. He had enough. 

“I see the kind of man you are now,” Daud states. Corvo flinches as he sees Daud move, expecting violence only for none to come. A hand is offered towards him, suspended in the air with a friendly palm facing outwards. Corvo stares at him, doubtful. He no longer knows who he can trust as the last helping hand he accepted had been the very reason he had been reduced to a half dead corpse floating in the Flooded District in the first place. He accepts it, nonetheless. Daud helps him up, steadies him, Corvo holds onto him for support. He realizes then how tired he is. When was the last time he had gotten proper sleep? Not in Coldridge prison, and not in the Hounds Pit Pub, where every dream was haunted by visions of the Outsider. “I’ll tell my men to stand down,” He promises. “We’ll give you passage out of the Flooded District. Just watch for guards. They will mistake you for a Weeper and they will shoot you down before they would risk a plague victim leaving quarantine.” Corvo still clings to the man. Daud pauses. He tightens his hold, which catches the assassins attention. He’s holding him steady with patience. The offered kindness was surely reciprocation for Corvo decidedly not killing him, but this was unexpected. It was easy to think of Daud as a monster. He was an assassin, and his name was infamous. How could he have a gentle hand when the same hand had caused so much harm?

“You need rest,” Daud observes. It is both a question and a statement. Corvo meets his eyes, looks at the scar that extended like a violent tear drop down his cheek and wondered how he had gotten it in the first place. Corvo nods stiffly, finding himself without words. Just a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath. He would be of no use to Emily or himself or anyone without his health. “Come,” Daud spoke, he motioned Corvo towards the rift in the building from which their duel had originated. 

Once a building of thriving business, now washed by flooded waters from the broken dam. It

looked nothing of the aristocratic background it once boasted - abandoned along with the rest of the ruins - such was the ways of the rich. Such was the history of the Flooded district, now a found home for the sick and the poor. This was Daud’s home now, and every member of his Whalers. It might as well have been a palace. 

A hand rested on Corvo’s back, guiding as they moved forward down the same halls Corvo had moved like a shadow through only a moment before. It was there to guide, it was there as a promise to steady Corvo, if he found himself too weak to continue. From the corner of his eye, he could see the glowing circles of the Whalers’ masks, keeping a cautious but watchful distance - whispers muffled through filters as they spoke among themselves, but no one dared to question the authority of Daud. 

He lead him to a bed: plain, simple. It was nothing like the comforts Corvo had grown accustomed to in his chamber so close to Jessamine’s room, but it functioned as it should - a place to rest. 

Corvo crawled onto the bed and allowed his limbs to relax. He felt heavy of sleep. The bed shifted with the weight of Daud sitting on the edge. “You may rest here. No one will bother you,” Daud promised. He moved to stand up again, but Corvo reached for him, grabbing hold of his shirt. “Is there something else?” He questioned. He seemed wary again. Corvo’s hold on the red cloth of his shirt tightened as he squeezed his fist tighter. The breath he drew in was something between a gasp and a cry. He was still hurting in a way he could not place, in a way he did not know how to relieve. Daud leaned in, and a surprise, kissed him. Corvo returned the affection with a slap to his face. It was a bastardization of Jessamine’s love for him - and from the man who killed her. Daud laughed, a low raspy rumble. “You don’t know when to quit, Bodyguard.” 

The comment burned in his chest. Corvo hated how he seemed to understand him better than he did himself. He hated the similarities he saw in himself. Had his life gone differently, would he have been the one to drive a blade through an Empress’ chest? Was Daud the future Corvo would one day see in himself?

He tugged him back down, crushing his lips to Daud’s. It was less a kiss and more of Corvo trying to stifle the scream he felt building in his throat. Daud joined him on the bed. Corvo gripped his shoulders, pressing them back against the stiff material of the mattress. He looked down at the man, straddled him between his thighs to prevent him from moving. 

“What do you want?” It feels more like a challenge than a question.

“I want her back,” Corvo speaks through gritted teeth. It’s an attempt to keep his voice from quivering, refusing to show weakness in front of Daud.

“You know she is gone,” His eyes look soft with emotion Corvo does not understand. He was not Jessamine. He would never be Jessamine, nor a suitable replacement for her. It was not love. It was not hate.

Daud moves, his hand sliding lower. Corvo twitches, ready for a fight if it came to it, but instead he touches his own pants, fingers undoing it’s clasp and shirking them ever so slightly down his hips. Corvo watches with uncertainty, watches as dark hair is exposed, and then the pink of Daud’s genitals, curiously flushed. 

Corvo’s fingers trace pale skin peaking between his shirt and his pants. They slide beneath his shirt and Daud takes it as a hint to remove it. He rests his palm on his chest, feels the beat of his heart - steady, if not slightly quicker paced for the moment. He traces his hands down, next letting his nails rake across Daud’s skin until red lines raise across it. Daud releases a small noise but does not protest. 

He moves and Corvo gives him the space to do so. He rests on his stomach, propped up by his elbows and coddling the pillow between his hands. “Do what you want, Bodyguard.” He sees the bottle on the chest, familiar with multiple uses of the oil and trying not to dwell on the memory of more experimental nights with Jessamine. 

He lets it drip over his fingers, before pressing them to Daud’s entrance. The man hisses as he presses in, leaving Corvo to question Daud’s history but he is not nearly emotionally invested enough to voice any of it. Then his own member, he covers in the slippery liquid. He slides in, slowly but firmly. Daud squirms slightly under Corvo, but Corvo holds him steady. The first thrust was cautious, the next not so much. He is getting careless with every progressive one, fucking Daud with the same desperate energy he had fought him with. He abandoned any concern of hurting the man in the process, but Daud is quiet of any complaints. Corvo’s eyes remain on his back, not wanting to look at him. He does not want to derive pleasure from the action, but cannot help the satisfaction of the work out, of the sweat that tangles with his overgrown hair, falling over his face. His own raspy breaths. He feels like a dog chasing a rabbit, teeth tearing delicate flesh, and a metaphorical blood rushing over his tongue. His climax is a silent scream, his nails digging into Daud’s skin with his grip. 

He is breathless once he is done, lays back on the bed with his chest heaving for breaths. Daud is silent for once, his breaths the only hint that he was still alive. Corvo won’t look at him. He did not want to see if the action had gotten the assassin off as well. He lets his breaths even out as his eyes fall shut and before he can tell himself not to, Corvo drifts to sleep.

He rested hard and without dreams. It was a welcome reprise from visitations of the Outsider every night, though he felt his gaze on him nonetheless. Oh what would he think about this choice he had made, and with another one of his pets too. He does not feel love for Daud, but he can not help but feel connected, like an invisible strand holding the two together.

He sits up. Much to his surprise, Daud is still laying in bed. His head feels clearer. Maybe the after effects of the poison have finally worked their way out of his system. Maybe Corvo was finally getting the rest he had been deprived of for six months. 

He reaches for his clothes, discarded on the floor, and begins working his pants up his waist again. The Loyalists - they had poisoned him; he finally processes this fact. They used him with the pretense that their goals were noble, that they wanted to help him, and then discarded him and why? Was it really ever about restoring Emily to the throne? Or was it just a guise for them to take it for themselves? He had thought the betrayals had ended when he was wrongfully accused of Jessamine’s murder, but for the very people who promised to help clear his name attempt to bury him in a watery grave - why had he not seen it coming? Or was he really surprised when every interaction with them, every mission was entirely about business. That’s all this was. And his own role in it -

Corvo pauses in his dressing, rests his forehead in his palms as he takes a slow breath in. 

“We are both just tools of destruction,” Corvo realizes, his voice breaking a heavy silence. He did not realize Daud was still conscious. His voice, though low and soft, still surprises Corvo.

“Yes,” Daud agrees. It’s a mournful admission. Corvo runs his hands through his hair He feels Daud’s watchful gaze on him. But he refuses to look at him. Two different sides but functionally the same. A hired sword to eliminate whoever stood in the way of their patrons’ goals. Corvo’s stomach twists with the realization of just what he had allowed the Loyalists to turn him into. He feels the strong urge to leave the room behind, and hopefully Daud as well. 

“Would you believe that I regret my actions?” Daud’s words catch him before he is able to leave. Corvo refused to look at him, refused to address what had been said. He did not want to question what it was that Daud regretted. He did not want it to justify why he had put up with everything Corvo had done to him hours before. He secured the metal mask over his face once more, reclaiming his anonymity, and left through the agape window. There was another man that deserved death more than Daud did. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second and final chapter of the fic. This takes place fifteen years later, shortly before the start of Dishonored 2. I mentioned that in the summary of the first part but hey, here's a reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up so much longer than I intended it to be and took a lot longer to write. I feel like this chapter, unlike the first, needed a bit of set up.

Doubt weighed on Corvo, as age and wisdom tried to lecture him on how foolish he was behaving. Each step is careful as he walks along the edge, one hand touching the exterior wall of Dunwall Tower. He had done this many times before, snuck himself and Jessamine out when they were young and courting and Jessamine wanted to be away from the tower. The secret places they would find where they had their most real conversations, and eventually, their first kiss. Once the cold night air hits his face, it feels as if nothing had changed.

Inside, he could see the shadowy outline of the Empress in her quarters. She was not alone, and it was that knowledge that lead Corvo to give her some much needed privacy. Emily was no longer a child in need of constant guidance. He understood she wanted space. Everyone had been breathing down her neck since she had only been ten years old, expected to run an Empire in the absence of her mother. He could give her the night alone while Wyman was visiting. He trusted Wyman, knew they would never do his daughter harm.

He tiptoes across the ledge, before jumping a small gap to a neighboring one - effortless if not graceful. He knew what Emily did on restless nights. She was a perfect mix of her parentage. His eyes and Jessamine’s rebellious spirit. She had been an eager student when he had suggested she learned how to handle a blade. He knew another day would come when the Empress’ life would be threatened, and he wasn’t entirely confident he alone would be able to protect her. Corvo knew mysterious powers hide in the shadows. To be overly confident was to be naive. The best way he could protect her was by teaching her to protect herself. 

When Emily wanted to be alone, she took to the rooftops. He pretended not to notice, despite it being a difficult facade to uphold when the paternal instinct in him spoke otherwise. There was no saying what dangers could find her in the night, and he did not want to put his lessons with Emily to practice if he could help it. He knew it was Jessamine’s wishes for her to be raised with enough room to breath. He could be protective of her without suffocating her, though it was a difficult balance to maintain. It kept him awake, waiting until he heard her slink back in through the window and return to her chambers, but he liked to trust that it brought her some peace of mind, some sort of self expression. Tonight, he understood why. 

The next roof was too far to jump. Without giving thought, Corvo clenches his hand, harnessing a power he had long put to rest, and within the blink of an eye, he disappears from where he stood and reappears over the gap. 

He distances himself further and further from the tower, where lights grow fewer and far in between. His heart pounds in time with every footfall. He feels invincible, untethered to his problems. He exists above the city and out of sight, and without anyone knowing he was there, it was as if he didn’t exist at all - what a beautiful thought. 

He dashes across another roof, footsteps too light to make noise. A patch of shingles are wet from the rain that had subsided earlier in the day. It catches Corvo off guard, twisting a graceful step sideways, until his face collides with the angle of the roof and he is sliding down it before he can right himself. His fingers catch the gutter before it could slide past, stopping his fall at the expense of a forceful tug on his arm. His feet dangle beneath him a moment as Corvo catches his breath, processes what has happened. A decision is made, and he releases, padding his landing with his hands and a crouch. It’s painful when he stands, earning a groan. Something like this was easier to recover from back then. His temple aches where it had no doubt made contact with the roof. He massages it lightly, only to spot blood on his fingers when he pulls away. 

It’s enough to convince him to stick to the streets like everyone else. He ambles from the alley, trying to figure out where his adventurous spirit had taken him. He was on the outskirts of Dunwall by now. He could see the rising stacks of an old whaling factory, now shut down due to hunting restrictions, and the glistening sea beyond it. Most windows are absent of life, except for one. A small tavern glowing with a warm inviting light. He’s not ready to head back to the tower, so Corvo steps inside. 

It’s quaint and business is at a lull compared to the more popular taverns closer to the heart of Dunwall. A pair of bards perform their songs with an enthusiasm larger than their crowd. The most appealing part is doubt that anyone here would recognize him, or at least bother him. Corvo sits at the bar, motions for the bartender to come near. 

“Orbon rum, if you have it,” He orders. He makes a habit of not to drink at the tower, or at least keep it in discipline. He is always staying sharp, always at the top of his game. If something happened to Emily, he did not know if he would ever recover. Even now, despite what lies he told himself, he knows he is not over the loss of Jessamine.

Pretending to have mastered his own mourning was easy when he ignored it in favor of focusing all his efforts into raising Emily. She had become his everything in his late lover’s absence, and while he had little regret over the experience parenthood had given him, Corvo was thinking there were many feelings he had put off for too long. He did not hope to move on so much as he wanted to let his restless spirit lie. There would never be a replacement for Jessamine. He understood for others there could be more than one grand romance in their lives, but no one else interested Corvo. He did not want another. 

He lets the booze coat his tongue as he throws the drink back, relishing in the familiar burning sensation and notes that reminded him of a home he had long ago. Before he had met Jessamine. He motions for another, wanting to drown out the ache in his bones from the fall, the noise in his head.

He takes the newly filled glass, and watches it swirl around in the glass. He thinks of the color red. Red, like her lips. Red, like her blood. Red, like the heart he could hold in the palm of his hand, squeeze it for a taste of her voice inside his mind. 

Corvo had woken up one night to find the Heart missing. He had not misplaced it, this he knew. It was not stolen. The Outsider took it back - whether it was a punishment or a blessing, Corvo did not know. He missed her voice. He never doubted it was Jessamine when he gave the pumping red heart a squeeze, but there was something artificial about interacting with her, like she was only a shadow of her former self - and he knew she suffered. 

But the spectre was better than the silence that existed without her. Or at least he was thinking so tonight when he was missing her more than his usual amount. With Emily grown up, he had little to occupy himself with. He hadn’t realized how empty that felt. He releases his hold on the glass, disinterested in it suddenly. He sought a distraction but he is more than ever drowning in his own thoughts. 

The glass slides. Corvo reaches for it, thinking he must have knocked it from the table, but it races across the hardwood, escaping his reach. A hand at the end of the bar catches it. Gloved, but Corvo could have sworn he saw a mystic blue glow from beneath it. Red, the color of his shirt, vibrant and in contrast with his silvery white hair. A ridge spanning down his forehead, intersecting his eye and along the length of his cheek. Corvo blinks, thinking he is mistaken, but there is familiarity in his appearance. 

The man downs the drink in one gulp, returns the empty glass back to the wooden bar and meets Corvo’s gaze. He drops a few coins on the bar and then leaves. 

Corvo follows suit. There is the smell of tobacco in the alleyway where the man in red leans against the wall. 

“An Overseer would have your head if they had witnessed you do that,” Corvo says casually to him.

“Smoke?” The man offers. Corvo accepts the already burning cigar and takes a puff. “You’re not an Overseer,” He states. “Or have you gone soft since becoming the Royal Spymaster?” The man accepts the cigar back and takes a puff. “Hypocrite,” He comments. Corvo chuckles, low and quiet. 

“I thought you were dead,” Corvo remarks. He looks at his white hair, slowly receding from his hairline. Skin starting to sag on his face. The years had not been gentle on Daud, but Corvo could not say he did not deserve it.

“In a way, I was,” He sucks in a breath. “The Knife of Dunwall is no more. Hasn’t been, for many years.” Daud’s disappearance had been so subtle, Corvo hadn’t even noticed it - not when there were more pressing matters in restoring Emily to the throne, to guiding the child Empress in her every day duties, keeping her safe - and being the father he was to her. He realized then it had been too long since he had last seen a wanted poster with Daud’s likeliness etched on it, or the glint of a ghostly mask and dark leathers of one of his gang. Daud and the Whalers had faded to obscurity, but there was no shortage of gangs in Dunwall. Their presence had hardly been missed.

“What are you doing here?” Corvo asks. It served to reason that Daud had left Dunwall. For fifteen years he had made a life for himself elsewhere, one that did not revolve around these familiar grounds, and for some unknown reason, had returned again.

“You don’t really want to know, do you?” Daud replies. Corvo paused. He did not worry much about Daud in his absence, that much had been clear. Even now he could not say he was concerned about the other man, but his presence was a welcome change in an otherwise lonely night. “What happened here,” Daud changes course, reaching towards Corvo’s bleeding temple. Corvo flinches, not expecting violence, but uncomfortable with being touched. He swats the gloved hand away from him. “Right. I see some things haven’t changed.” He questions what he was even doing out here with this man, but he supposed curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had thought Daud was long gone by now, expecting to never again see him, and yet he stood before him. His curiosity had been sated, so he could go back inside then, Corvo determined. His feet did not seem to want to listen to his head’s logic. Maybe he had hit it harder on the roof than he initially thought. 

The sound of the performers inside carries into the alleyway. A slow, sorrowful song of how the empire burdened the common man plays its final notes, only to avert to a more celebratory piece with an upbeat tune. Corvo tapped his shoe along to the beat. It evoked a distant memory of when he used to dance. There were plenty of dances held in Dunwall Tower, but there was no time for dancing when he had an Empress to watch after. An event just welcomed more risk with so many people inside the Tower. His guard couldn’t be let down. 

Daud snuffed out the cigar on the hard stone wall of the building before moving, Corvo’s eyes falling to attention on him. There was something odd about his gait, the way he shifted his feet then - rhythmic and with grace. He struck a small pose.

“I haven’t forgotten either,” He relayed. Corvo feels read in a way he isn’t sure he is comfortable with. He left Serkonos at the young age of sixteen. Swept away from his birthplace and his family when his worth to the City Watch had become apparent. It was many years ago and Corvo felt as if he had lived many lives since, so that remembering the drunk on confidence teen he had been hardly felt connected to him at all. Daud extends a hand towards him. Corvo remembers something he had known somehow secretly; Daud had also hailed from Serkonos. 

His fingers curl against the hand, and together they move, like coy in the pond. Yin and yang. “Do you miss it? Much warmer than Dunwall’s streets.” Corvo turns away, only to be pulled in once more by Daud’s hand on his waist. The movement creates a small gasp from Corvo’s lips. “Less dreary without all this overcast and the rain.” The darker, rainier climate of Dunwall had been a hard adjustment, when Corvo was used to warm weather, to sun on his skin. And to Serkonian dances. Though the dance halls of Dunwall try to replicate the distinct style of Serkonos, it is nothing but watered down wine compared to the original. Daud is a well aged wine, sensual in flavor. 

Their dance is a drama in itself, with all the beats and intensity of their duel many years ago. There are moments of fire and moments of passion, and moments that are a beautiful rosé of both. “I remember dancing,” Corvo answers. “My last night in Serkonos. Drunk and confident. Somehow I knew once I left Serkonos I would never be going back.” It would not have been Corvo’s choice. Happy he had won his distinction as a sword fighter, but it would be the first in a line of events that had left his life racing down a river, away from Serkonos, into becoming the different man he was today. 

The songs ends and Corvo finds himself still in Daud’s arms, his face close enough to his own so that Corvo could smell the tobacco on his breath. The brief distance invoked emotions in Corvo, none of them were a desire to move away. A smile twitched on Daud’s wrinkled lips. “I know better than to try to kiss you, Bodyguard.”

It was a mutual thought, and that confirmation alone was enough for Corvo to break the distance. He touched his lips to Daud’s, tasting the musk of Serkonian booze on them, which only inspired him to press deeper to get a better taste. He felt warm, and, unexpectedly, a yearning for something he missed terribly. It was not Daud he missed, this much he knew, but he missed how familiar the man felt, how familiar his lips were. He wanted to put to memory the shape of his lips. There hadn’t been much in between now and the time since they had last kissed. 

“I wonder what other indulgences you wish to sate tonight?” Daud taunts. Indulgences. An oddly perfect word to sum up the night. The roof jumping, the booze, the dancing. Even now, speaking with Daud, it was a curiosity fulfilled in attempt to make this emptiness that hollowed Corvo out disappear. And was there anything else he had wanted? Of course, another indulgence he had kept himself from for too long, and in this moment, he wasn’t sure why he had decided to deprive himself of it in the first place. Maybe then he wouldn’t have chosen Daud, of all people.

“Not here,” Corvo whispered. And not at Dunwall Tower either. He would sooner swim with hagfish than let the assassin anywhere near the tower again. Daud nods in silent understanding, turning away from him and leads the way. Corvo is met with a moment where he thought he would be better to turn around and run. But yet again, for a reason that was beyond him, he decided to trust Daud.

They hadn’t been walking for long before Daud paused and then pointed towards an agape window a few stories up. It appeared completely dark at first sight. At second, it flickered faintly with light that could only have come from candles. One moment standing beside him, another moment dissolving into black shreds. Daud reappears in the window, beckons Corvo to follow. He mirrored Daud’s actions, making the short blink up to the window, crawling into the space.

It was obvious the space had been abandoned, save for the man who decided to make it home, like a rat nesting in a hole. Few items inside. Literature mostly, between old near rotting books to scattered loose sheets. A vibrant red elixer nestles besides a few whole fruits, no doubt stolen from the marketplace stands when the vendor had been distracted. An old mattress made for his bed, draped with an assortment of blankets that made it almost appealing. It left Corvo with the impression that Daud had not been here long, and that he did not intend to stay. 

A hand snakes around his waist, seeking his attention. Daud is close again. Corvo considers his lips, but keeps the small distance. Daud is touching his shirt, undoing buttons. Corvo shrugs the cloth from his torso, feeling cold air from the still agape window, but Daud’s hands are warm on him. His body less trim than it was in his youth, still muscled though beneath the excess weight. Daud traces along old ghostly scars that batter it. 

He kisses Daud again, a hand cradling the long scarred cheek. Daud leans into him, rubs his clothed groin against Corvo’s. The friction lights a fire inside of Corvo,not for destruction, but hungered for Daud. He moans, despite himself.

“How do you want me?” Daud asks, breaking from the kiss, but remaining close. There is no denying Corvo wanted him. The swell in his pants gave him away. Corvo rests a hand on Daud’s chest, guiding him back onto the makeshift bed. He presses him down, climbing on top after him. 

“Like this,” He answers, his hand stroking down Daud’s chest, parting buttons, until it finds it’s way to Daud’s pants. He tugs them down and off of Daud’s hips. His erection is not quite full. Corvo smiles to himself, swallowing a joke about age and competency - he, himself, was not that far behind Daud in age. 

He leans his hips into Daud’s, matches his erection to Daud’s and holds them together with a grasp. He notices the way Daud looks down at them, his own hand covering Corvo’s as together they rubbed. Corvo releases a small grunt at the work, feels his groin flush with blood and desire and Daud grows beneath his touch. 

“I have a-” Daud doesn’t finish, but points back towards the fruit on the table, and Corvo notices another object he hadn’t paid attention to earlier - oil. He turns back towards Daud.

“Are you really going to make me do all the work?” Corvo chides. Daud releases a breath. He knows Daud wanted it to come across as irritation, but Corvo can hear the humor in it. His mark shines and the small bottle is summoned to Daud’s hand. 

“Happy, Guard Dog?” There’s a scowl on his lips. Corvo kisses them, feels them loosen. 

“Yes,” He whispers, inches from his lips as he blindly takes the bottle from him. His fingers dip into the bottle, swirls them around, as if teasing Daud with a preview. He already knows what it to come next. He preps Daud a little more carefully than when they had last been together, taking his time, circling slowly around his entrance, leaving it coated. He watches Daud squirm beneath him, not meeting his eyes. He releases a frustrated breath. 

“Just fuck me already!” He insists. Corvo laughs, tempted to make his wait longer, wait until he was truly desperate for him, but Corvo gives in. 

A hand grasps Daud’s hip and slowly, Corvo presses in. He exhales a long breath in time with Daud. Finally, an annoying itch being scratched. His thrusts are slow and controlled. Corvo lets his eyes close, allows his other senses to take Daud in. He feels like a tide retreating and then crashing back onto the shore, washing over Daud. His breaths are cut short from the work, but otherwise it’s steady. Corvo’s lips find Daud’s again. He pushes them apart and let’s his tongue dance with Daud’s as he thrusts into him. When Daud moans, he feels it vibrate within his mouth. 

He reaches between their bodies, finding Daud’s erection and gripping it firmly. He pumps the member in time with his every thrust. Daud gasps, leans his head into Corvo and bites at his earlobe. Corvo laughs at the small pain, thinks he deserves worse than a tiny nibble. Daud seemingly reads his mind, lips moving down his stubbly throat before biting firmly down on Corvo’s shoulder. Corvo groans in pain, holds a little tighter onto Daud, encouraging it.

He can feel himself coming undone. His breath catches in his throat. He faithfully rubs Daud to his climax. A warm buzz floods his body hearing the man gasp, open lips desperate for air and he can tell Daud wants to form his name but is hesitant, and when Corvo thinks about it, he is unsure how he would react to hearing it.

He lays face down on the makeshift bed next to him, one arm draped over Daud’s chest. For what he had done, he was feeling unexpectedly worn out, though he supposed age had something to do with it, mixed with his rooftop adventure earlier in the night. Daud’s fingers gently trace along Corvo’s spine. 

“I should leave,” Corvo breaths, knowing it is the truth, but his body is telling himself otherwise. He can’t seem to find the will to move. Daud is warm and comfortable and Corvo had enough of lonely nights. 

“You should rest,” Daud speaks. His voice is gravely yet comforting. His hand finds its way to Corvo’s hair, twisting between short, greying locks. “Always so wound up,” Daud comments.

“Whenever I think I can rest, that’s when things go wrong,” Corvo defends. Though it had been a long time since anything sizeable happened. He liked to think he had everything under control these days. He liked to believe he would not make the same mistakes he had back then. “Maybe it’s been too quiet for too long.” It was leaving him at unease, as if it was only a matter of time before everything he had worked to build with the Empire and Emily would come falling down at his feet. He didn’t trust a good thing. He did not like to be caught off guard.   
“Maybe you’ve suffered enough. Maybe the storm is over for good this time.” Daud pointed out. Corvo was quiet. After all this time, he did not know if he deserved peace. He did not like this reassurance coming from Daud, of all people, not confident if he could reciprocate the saying for him. 

“It’s not good for us to be together,” Corvo relays. There was comfort in being close to someone for a change, but it was soured with the knowledge that the someone was Daud. He did not know how to feel about Daud. In a way, it felt natural, like there was no choice, their paths were destined to interweave. He could surrender and let it happen, like tonight, but Corvo never knew when to quit a fight. He wasn’t sure if he liked Daud as a person. He was too much like him. 

“Afraid what the press might say?” Daud teases, a humored smile pulling at his lips.“I can only imagine the headlines. The Royal Protector and a mysterious beau.” It earns a chuckle from Corvo. It had been so long, he was sure the public would be starved for an inkling that Corvo was with someone.   
“I think they’re too busy trying to pin the Crown Killings on me to be worried about gossip,” Corvo relays, playing along. He rubs his hand over his beard, smoothing it down. “But it wouldn’t be the first romantic scandal I had been involved in.” He had meant it as a light joke, but the words brought a darkness to Daud’s face.

“Your empress...” It was as if he had only just been reminded. A hint of emotion Corvo could not comprehend. Regret? Something burned low and dark in the pit of Corvo’s stomach. He had not forgotten what it looked like to see Her blood on Daud’s blade, but this anger was old, like a greying dog, and it wanted to rest. 

“I don’t want an apology,” Corvo stated, definitively. It silences Daud, but even so, the pause voiced his reluctance. He could see what it meant for Daud to apologize for his actions, but Corvo would not allow him the satisfaction, the peace of mind. He would not forgive Daud. “I belong at the tower,” He reminds Daud, and perhaps also himself. He had been away for long enough. It was better not to tempt fate. He moves from the bed and begins to dress. “If I see you again-” his words are cut.

“It’s for the better you don’t,” Daud interrupts. Corvo turns to meet his eyes. His expression betrays nothing, but Corvo knows there is something he is withholding from him. He questions yet again what brought Daud back to Dunwall. An ounce of intuition, the answer would not come without a price and Corvo was not sure it would be worth the risk. The glance they share then is all there is to Corvo’s goodbye. 

He steps into the window frame, before blinking onto a rooftop across the street. His limbs complain from exhaustion, but he has a long way back to Dunwall tower. His back to the hole which Daud had made his nest, Corvo steals one last glance towards it. He can see nothing in the window besides the dull glow the candles gave. Corvo tries to imagine Daud’s face, wondering if he is looking too, though hidden from sight. Suddenly, darkness, as the candles no doubt were snuffed out. Corvo turns to find another light, one a distance away, but still hovering above the rest of the city. Dunwall Tower; it called, as did his future for a hope of him to stop dwelling in the past - finally move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably does not need to be said, but any feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
